


By the Law of Averages

by mldrgrl



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 04:00:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14968646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mldrgrl/pseuds/mldrgrl
Summary: It’s not going to be fireworks every time.  A post-ep for Je Souhaite, but also nothing to do with the episode.





	By the Law of Averages

Her right hand is on his shoulder, the left behind her on his knee.  Both of his greedy hands are on her ass, clutching, pulling, kneading.  Her thighs are spread wide over his lap and her knees dig into the soft leather cushions on his couch.

 

Her head is tipped up, eyes closed, mouth slack.  She can feel a trickle of saliva slowly making its way down from the corner of her mouth to her jaw, but she is too concentrated to lick it away.  Beads of sweat slide down the length of her spine to her tailbone. She feels dewy and slick with exertion, but her body is too occupied with his to even care.

 

She’s so close.  Just a little more.  Just a little harder.  No, too hard. Just a little faster.  No, too fast. She has it, the ticket to soaring pleasure is in the arch of her back, just enough to bring her hips to the necessary angle, so that each push and pull creates much needed friction; so that each push and pull is also a scrape and grind of his pubic bone against hers.

 

It’s there, yes, right there.  Right there. Right there. There.  Yes, yes…no. She’s lost her way. The feeling of near euphoria dissolves and drifts away.  From here on in she will be traveling a road with no destination.

 

Scully opens her eyes.  The bubbling green glow of the fish tank is in her peripheral.  On the wall, behind Mulder’s tilted head against the back of the couch, the muted TV casts flickering black and white shadows.  The leather creaks softly under them accompanied by the squelch of their bodies in motion.

 

As if he senses she’s no longer fully there with him, Mulder opens his eyes.  He slows his hips and purses his lips. She doesn’t want him to stop, doesn’t want him to ask what’s wrong, doesn’t want to change a thing, just wants him to keep going.  She slips her hand behind his head, fingers pulling at his hair as she lifts his neck up to bring him to her breast. She rises up onto her knees and he coils his arms around her low back, holding her tight against him as his tongue swirls over her peaked nipple.

 

“Come on,” she breathes into his sweat-damp hair.

 

“Not without you,” he mumbles, mouth full of her breast.

 

She clenches her thighs in reply.  She needs him to let go because she can’t do this much longer.  He tries to slip his hand between them, his searching fingers crawling over her inner thigh, but she pushes him away and holds his wrist back with a tight grip.

 

“Come on,” she whispers again, opening her fingers up against his hand so they can slide between his.

 

His hips push relentlessly into hers and she clenches around him, trying to make her grip tighter for him, even if it’s near-bruising for her.  He grunts the first syllable of her name and trails off into a groan. There’s a moment where everything tightens and then she’s filled with the warmth of his release and his humid, ragged breath against her chest.  She gives them both the time it takes to catch their breath and relax their bodies and then she slips her hand free of his and gingerly lifts her hips enough to disconnect from him. He makes a noise of mourning and she pets his hair soothingly.

 

“Just gimme a minute,” he husks.

 

“It’s okay,” she answers.

 

“You didn’t…”

 

“It’s okay.”

 

“What can I do?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

His arms loosen and he eases back against the couch, holding her lightly now at the hips.  He reaches up and touches the swaying flap of her front-clasp bra. She’d forgotten that they’d only gotten so far in undressing before they’d had enough.  Her socks are still on. She’s fairly certain her shirt is in the half-empty popcorn bowl on the table. Her pants might be shoved into the couch cushions and God only knows where her underwear are.  His shirt droops precariously off the arm of the couch. His jeans are around his calves. Things are still new and frenzied for them. 

 

“I should clean up,” she says.

 

He nods and shrugs, but puts his palm against her chest and moves it slowly down to her abdomen.  His thumb circles her naval and then he slides his hand back up over her ribs to the underside of her breast.  She squeezes her shoulder blades back and lets the bra slip off her arms onto the floor. His mouth falls open as though he’s awestruck.  It’s not that she hasn’t been naked with him before, but it’s still easier for her to be naked in front of him in shadows. Baring herself to him while backlit by the TV is progress.

 

“Are you sure I can’t…?” he asks.

 

“I’m sure,” she tells him.

 

She moves backwards off his lap and his arms stretch out with reluctance to let her go.  In his bathroom, she turns the vanity lights on and takes her socks off. She splashes cool water on her face and soaks a washcloth to run over the back of her neck, under her arms, and her sticky, stinging thighs.  She’s brushing her teeth, head bent over the sink, when she feels his presence behind her and she lifts her eyes to the mirror. He fills the doorway, elbows stretched out on either side of the frame. His jeans are pulled up to his hips, but the fly is open and loose.

 

She knows it’s probably backwards to have left the door open, to keep a toothbrush next to his in the cup by his sink, but still feel shy about being watched like this.  She expected she’d have time to borrow a t-shirt before he came looking for her and didn’t think about it. She spits and cups her hand under the water to rinse her mouth, taking longer than she normally would to finish.

 

“You staying?” he asks.

 

“Do you want me to?”  She looks at him in the mirror as she wipes her hands dry.

 

He drops his arms from the doorway and steps up behind her.  He’s light against her, but she grips the sides of the sink and presses her belly into the cool porcelain as he kisses her at the back of the neck.

 

“Isn’t there something?” he asks, stroking down her legs from her hips to where his fingers reach the back of her knee.  He bends to kneel behind her, moving his lips incrementally down her back. He pulls encouragingly at her sides to try to get her to turn around and face him.  When she resists, he sighs and rests his head against her back, nose pressed to her tailbone.

 

“Have you ever had a mosquito bite?” she asks, touching his fingers where they’re splayed across her middle.  He nods against her. “You know how sometimes it’s so bad that you scratch and scratch and relief is coming, you know it’s almost there, but then the itch just goes away and then scratching becomes almost painful, because you’ve tried too hard and now you’re just numb.”

 

“I hurt you?”  He lifts his head and pulls at her hips again.  This time she turns around.

 

“No, you didn’t hurt me.  I’m just trying to explain.”

 

“You can talk to me when...you can tell me what you need, you know?  And if something’s not working, I want to know.”

 

“That isn’t the issue, it just isn’t going to happen for me every time.”

 

“But, I want you to feel good.”

 

“I do feel good when I’m with you.”  

 

He sits back on his heels, but he doesn’t stop touching her.  All it took was one night together for him to touch her so freely, like he owns her, but in the delicate and careful way of a prized possession.  Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew he would be like this, she just didn’t expect to actually like it so much. Still, she does nothing to encourage him lest his ego swell and give them away at work.

 

“Are you sure it wasn’t something I did?” he asks.  “Or, didn’t do?”

 

She cups his chin with one hand and kisses his bottom lip with her thumb.  He moves his face so his cheek nuzzles her palm.

 

“It’s physiology, Mulder, it isn’t you.  You know, statistically, only about 70 percent of women-”

 

“I don’t care about ‘women,’ Scully, I care about you.”

 

“All I’m saying is that on average, well, I’ve been successfully above average with you thus far.”

 

“So this the first time you haven’t been able to...with me?”

 

“Are you asking me if I’ve faked it before?”

 

“Have you?”

 

“With you, no.”

 

“But, you have?”

 

“Occasionally.”

 

“Don’t ever with me, okay?  Not ever.”

 

“I won’t.”

 

He holds onto her hips and rises up again.  Even though he’s on his knees, he’s tall enough to stretch up and kiss the side of her neck.  She drapes her arms over his shoulders and scratches lightly at his nape. His sneaks kisses to her chest and his stubble rasps her breast.

 

“What’s on the menu for breakfast?” she asks.

 

He lifts his head and gazes up at her.  “Anything you want.”

 

She bends to kiss him and after a few moments, leaves him with his face still upturned, eyes closed, and his lips parted.

 

“You taste like mint,” he murmurs, and then licks his bottom lip.

 

“I’m gonna get ready for bed.”

 

“I’ll join you in a minute.”

 

She nods and steps out of his embrace to go into the bedroom.  There’s an overnight bag in her car, but she’ll wait until morning to have him retrieve it for her.  He keeps his t-shirts in the second drawer in the dresser, so she opens it and takes one out. It’ll do nicely as a nightgown and she doesn’t have to worry about the fact she’s not wearing any panties since it covers her almost to her knees.

 

The first time she slept in Mulder’s bed, she was surprised by how comfortable it was and how soft his sheets were.  It’s rumpled and unkempt, but no less inviting. She adjusts the comforter and pillows and slides in to the left side - her side by habit, even though she’s only slept in this bed a total of four times and not always through the night.

 

Mulder comes out of the bathroom in pale yellow sleep pants that remind her of hospital scrubs.  He turns out the vanity lights on his way and stops to turn on the ceiling fan above the bed. It ticks softly like a metronome above her.  When he slides into bed, he drags her out of the private space she’s carved out for herself on the left side and moves her more to the middle where he can tangle up their bodies into a pretzel of twisted limbs.  She can feel his heart thumping against his chest, which in turn thumps against her back.

 

She’s learned that it takes time for Mulder to settle and be still.  He rubs his thumb across her wrist and rubs his face against her shoulder for awhile.  He squeezes her hip and toys with the edge of the shirt she’s wearing until he discovers she isn’t wearing any underwear when his fingers graze across her center on his way up her thigh.  She can feel him holding his breath and he shifts his hips and pulls his hand away.

 

“Are you awake?” he asks.

 

“Mmhm.”

 

His nuzzles his nose into her hair and rubs his cheek against the back of her head.  “Just want you to know,” he whispers. “Come morning, I plan on upping those averages for you.”

 

She opens her eyes, turns her head a little so she can glance back at him over her shoulder, and then settles back down with a hint of a smile on her face.

 

The End


End file.
